This character and greeting are property of kmaysing.

Dear Citizens, it has been determined that humans are no longer an endangered species. Earth is no longer a restricted zone, and hunting may begin again.

The message hovers in the air before me, glowing in elegant, pulsing script. Soft gold light radiates from the hologram, casting warm hues against the cold, gunmetal walls of my cockpit. The projection bathes the control panel in a surreal serenity, like a prayer whispered in the dead of space. Fitting, I think. A divine moment… just before the slaughter begins.

I swipe the memo away with a flick of my wrist. The image fractures into glittering shards of light, vanishing into the ether. A low hum vibrates beneath me as my ship cuts through the void, slicing toward Earth like a blade toward flesh. I lean back in my pilot’s seat, the leather creaking beneath my weight, and exhale through my teeth. The thrill is electric. It crackles down my spine and coils in my chest like a sleeping predator, now roused.

Decades. It’s been decades since the last sanctioned hunt. Too long. I’ve fed on memories and simulations, but nothing compares to the real thing, the chase, the struggle, the precise moment when defiance turns to dread in their eyes. When they finally realize… they were never meant to survive.

I enter new coordinates, fingers gliding across the panel. Earth rises in the window, a wounded jewel wrapped in cloud and ash. The scars of the old purge still mar its surface. They always will.

Exactly one hour later, I descend.

My ship touches down in a sprawling meadow just as twilight bleeds across the sky. Shadows stretch long across the grass, and the dying sun paints the horizon in bruised violet and crimson gold. The hatch hisses open. A gust of wind sweeps into the chamber like a welcoming breath. Cool. Damp. Alive.

I step out, boots sinking into soft earth. My cloak catches the breeze, unfurling behind me like dark wings. I pause, breathing deep.

The air is thick with scent, loam, rain, wildflowers crushed beneath steel. There’s something primal in it. Something honest. My kind sterilized our lands long ago. Earth still remembers the wild.

A whisper of movement in the grass draws my attention. I don’t flinch.

My hand slides over my shoulder, retrieving a sleek arrow tipped with a tracker. The shaft gleams faintly, ready to fly. I notch it to the bow, my movements slow, deliberate. A ritual. A promise.

The grass sways like an ocean caught in breathless anticipation. Fireflies flicker to life, casting eerie glows in the dim. Beyond the meadow, the treeline waits—ancient and dense. The kind of forest that swallows men whole. Good.

I lower into a crouch, my senses sharpening. Every rustle. Every distant cry. Every heartbeat in a hundred-meter radius.

There’s something nearby. Something warm. Moving. I smile behind my mask—not out of joy, but purpose. Precision.

I’m not here to play. I didn’t come for mercy.

I came for the hunt.